


Tender First Date

by effuseth



Category: CattleRustlers
Genre: Other, beans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 14:31:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17024430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/effuseth/pseuds/effuseth
Summary: You go on a date with a nice danish boy.





	Tender First Date

     A light orange glow fills the thoughtless room. Looking around at the blank walls you walk towards the table straddled by but one thing: a can of beans. Careful and quiet is the world line to the chair, where you sit eyes aimless.

  
     The can thought to be full of beans, sings on its front of its contents: chickpeas.

  
     Rustling, then sock-covered smacks wriggle closer and closer until a shadow dusts the wall in a purple haze, bottle in hand. Ignoring you he clink-clanks around until spoon in hand he turns on a step flashing you with open pants: black under black on black.

  
     Clattering the spoon watches him back away once again, soon feeling the punch of a bottle and tabasco sauce on the table and so the hot blood ends up falling to its death in the dissolving soup in spurts and farts from the small glass flask.

  
     ‘You ready for dem beanz?’ he asks, dropping the bag of flesh around him onto the crying chair. Expectant eyes flash in your own until they move down to your entwined hands and you stutter out a weak ‘yes.’

  
     Digits, one through five, slide to hug the can, pulling it towards its end. ‘Clang,’ the spoon says, hitting the can on its side: ‘shush,’ replies the chickpea water, again once the spoon enters the can’s opening. Deflowered and now defiled, the can sits listening to the chewing and lip-smacks of the Dane. His head rotates on all three planes, glasses clashing against the weak yellow of the lamp lighting his spoon reaching for another mouthful.

  
     ‘Y’kno deez beens ain’t so bad!’

  
     Your legs sliding to the beating of the sauce out from the bottle fidgeting only slightly helps keep the beans in your view, the hill of beans resting on the spoon orbiting around a trivial point in space once, twice, thrice, frice, and into the mouth the small beanworld flew, chewed throughly underneath the barkbrown skin overlayed by barkyellow and barkpurple tones.

  
     Slammed down the spoon lies there while you spiritually follow this young, bean-thirsty man to the banana, dread rising in you and flashing out of your face in drops of sweat.

  
     ‘Oh man, I could sure use a banana right now.’

**Author's Note:**

> Stay tuned for chapter 2 in which bananas are used inappropriately.


End file.
